


Empty

by cosmicqueer



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Critical Role Spoilers, Gen, this is how im coping with episode 26
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicqueer/pseuds/cosmicqueer
Summary: When Lorenzo brought his glaive up to swing at the ostentatious tiefling standing before him, Molly did what he had to do. He was known to enjoy a good wager; if there was any possibility of protecting his friends and weakening his enemies, he would take that chance. And, if it was at the cost of his own life, then so be it.





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**Author's Note:**

> after episode 26 the critical role cast beat me up in a denny's parking lot
> 
> then i wrote this in about 2 hours while crying

Mollymauk knew he was hurt. After the arrow to the shoulder, and the slashes across his body, he had begun to recognize the familiar twinge of pain. The freezing ache of Lorenzo’s spell still permeated his flesh, numbing his arms and intensifying the white-knuckled grip around his glowing swords. Warm blood trickled steadily from the eye on his neck, creeping down the planes of his chest like a river reflecting a sunset, his skin crying for him. He was shaking and dizzy and he _knew_ he was hurt worse than the others, but he was not retreating until his friends were out of harm’s way.

Lorenzo towered over Beauregard a few steps away from Mollymauk, preparing to strike at the monk. With quick movements, Molly threw himself into the fray with a flurry of motion. His capes swirled in the breeze as his blades pierced Lorenzo’s armor with a sickening noise and sliced into his flesh. Despite the deep wound he had caused, Lorenzo did not react verbally. With a huff, Molly pulled his sword free and attempted to attack a second time. The slaver calmly shifted his focus away from Beau and easily evaded the blade.

 _That’s good,_ Mollymauk reassured himself. _Pay attention to me._ He was familiar with that game, with distracting someone to get away with a plan. But as he shifted his weight to brace himself for an oncoming blow, a sharp sting from his arrow wound crawled up his shoulder. He winced and ground his jaw with a growl, paying the ache no mind even as he faltered; Molly was aware of how serious his injuries were – though the pain wasn’t a new experience, not with his unique abilities – but he could live through it long enough to ensure the team’s safety.

When Lorenzo brought his glaive up to swing at the ostentatious tiefling standing before him, Molly did what he had to do. He was known to enjoy a good wager; if there was any possibility of protecting his friends and weakening his enemies, he would take that chance. And, if it was at the cost of his own life, then so be it.

As the snow gently fell around his feet, Mollymauk hissed viciously in Infernal. The crying eye on the side of his neck burst open in a cascading splatter of blood, speckling his boots. Instantly, Lorenzo’s cheeks became streaked by red tears and he faltered with his weapon. Molly smirked, then stumbled, then toppled over onto the ground, wheezing as he fell to his knees. Inflicting the Blood Maledict curse had depleted all of his remaining strength. At the very least, he hoped that it would give Beau enough time to land a few more punches before Caleb, Nott, and Keg could come to her aid. Then, they could help him to his feet and find the rest of their friends.

If only the battle were that easy. Without warning or hesitation, Lorenzo’s hefty glaive buried itself in Molly’s chest. It tore through the front of his capes and satin shirt, piercing the chain of his necklace, before it punctured his flesh. His own swords clattered to the ground as the blade gouged a long and jagged cut into his abdomen, carving out a valley in his organs and snapping the bones of his ribcage. Mollymauk’s body was forced down by the blow, his back slamming into the snow and dirt with a reverberating, thunderous noise.

He screamed.

He had never felt such _pain_. His vision went black as he shrieked in a broken voice and thrashed wildly, only managing to impale the glaive deeper into the home it had made in his heart. His heels dug into the dirt and his hands weakly curled around the weapon’s handle, attempting to somehow push it away from him, but his fingers flexed uncontrollably and he lost his grip. He saw the red stains on his arms, his chest, his legs, the glaive – and the sight of his own blood had never frightened him before now. He could taste it as it bubbled up in his throat, felt it soaking into his clothing, and all he could do was scream.

Perhaps injuring himself would be viewed by the rest of the team as nonsensical, in retrospect. It only brought him closer to his deathbed, but how could he have foreseen being attacked while already losing consciousness? Nonetheless, Mollymauk had known what he was doing; he was aware of the risks and determined that the slimmest chance of him helping save the others was more valuable than his own vitality in that moment. _That’s_ why he inflicted the Blood Maledict, and he would have stood by that decision every time he was asked. And even as the curved blade of Lorenzo’s weapon pinned him to the ground and he howled and fought against it, he was not regretful.

Lorenzo laughed, mocking Molly’s attempts to free himself from the glaive’s pinning strike. The tiefling’s fury flared brightly in his red eyes and, using his last bit of strength, he raised his head and spit a mouthful of blood into the slaver’s face. He could not hear what the other man said over the ringing in his ears, but Mollymauk had no doubt it was cruel.

As the glaive was slowly pulled free from his chest, Molly gasped and shook in agony. He gazed upon the wound with desperation in his eyes and the shadows of his face grew darker. The sounds of the battle around him faded as he stared intently at the gash in his chest. It was wide and deep, frothing at the top with blood as if it were a too full glass spilling over. His hands fumbled at his sides, his legs kicked against the air, his entire body was restless as his nerves twitched with their last few vestiges of life.

With a shallow breath, Molly allowed his neck to fall back, choking and trembling as Death’s gentle hands guided him to rest his heavy head in the soft snow. He hadn't seen snow until that day, and in the corner of his mind he was saddened to know that he wouldn't see it again. He suddenly coughed and his abdomen heaved, pumping more of his blood to the surface of the cut, where it spilled across a white canvas like strokes of crimson paint. Flames erupted in the corner of his blurred vision and he heard the distant shouts of his allies but his limbs felt too heavy to move. In his final flashes of cognizance, Mollymauk watched, unblinking, as the snow caught in his eyelashes, and hoped that it would not bury him.

**Author's Note:**

> god, its so fitting that molly died in the snow. like, come on, its the most obvious symbol of death. i hate this show
> 
> as soon as i finished episode 26, i knew i had to write something for molly. he is my favorite character from campaign 2 and his death was such an unexpected, gut-wrenching, and morbidly fantastic turn of events. hopefully matt is merciful (hah) and allows our purple boy to stay in the game?? the possibilities are there??? we were just beginning to scratch the surface of his narrative ugggh. regardless, i am nervously anticipating next week's episode!!
> 
> anyhoot thank you so much for reading!!!! you can talk to me about critical role (or anything, really!) @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/vividvalkyrie) / [tumblr](http://vividvalkyrie.tumblr.com/)


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